


Sunshine

by Theifindi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN, Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Good Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, Lucius Malfoy's A+ Parenting, M/M, No Beta We Die Like Sirius, POV Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Sad Draco Malfoy, Scent Kink, Slow Burn, Werewolf Draco Malfoy, but it's okay it'll get better, draco does not know that, draco has good friends, draco whump, harry and ginny aren't together anymore, i just like to hurt them a little before it gets better okay, it still gets better tho, or maybe hurt them a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26517022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theifindi/pseuds/Theifindi
Summary: Potter smells of sunshine and broom polish, and grass off the Quidditch Pitch.It's driving Draco up a veritable wall.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson/Blaise Zabini, past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley - Relationship
Comments: 33
Kudos: 127





	1. September

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that just wouldn't leave me alone, I've been working on it for a long time, as kind of a self-satisfying pet project. I'm not really sure where it's all going, so it'll be a surprise for everyone.
> 
> Hope you like. umu <3

_“Now, now, Draco. Always shut up in your room, why don’t you join us?” The Dark Lord’s voice was silk, and threatening in a subtle way._

_The setting room of Malfoy Manor was crowded- always was these days. Death Eaters from every corner of the world, come to pledge and prove their loyalty. Draco dared not glance at his mother, who leaned cooly at the mantel near the fire, nor his father, who sat camly nearby. All eyes were on him, and though it made Draco’s insides tremble with fear and nerves, he bowed his head in deference and respect, and he came when beckoned._

_“What keeps you up there all day?” The Dark Lord purred._

_Draco wished he could see Nagini, or knew where she was. It made him nervous not to know._

_“Summer homework, my lord.” He answered in the most respectful tone he knew._

_There could be no room for missteps here, no room for arrogance or pride. Only fear and respect._

_“Oh?” The Dark Lord makes a ‘go on’ motion._

_“I’m taking Advanced Ancient Runes this year, and there’s quite a lot of reading needed to be prepared, my lord.”_

_“Ahhh, so good you’re keeping up in your studies. Intelligence is vital, Draco…”_

_Draco felt dread begin to well up in his gut, closing his throat._

_“Unfortunately, you won’t be returning to that mockery of a school this year._ Avada Kedavera!”

Draco woke with a start, head and heart pounding as he gasped raggedly for breath. He touched his chest, his throat, eyes staring wide and sightless in the pitch blackness. Both intact. The room beyond his four poster was at last coming into focus. Fine. He was fine. Draco forced his breathing to even out and ran a hand through his hair, the other propping him up as he looked around for his wand. Everything was fine.

Adrenaline shook his hand as he whispered a hoarse ‘ _Lumos_ ’ to read the clock on his bedside table.

“Three AM, dear, you ought to go back to sleep.” It yawned at him kindly. Draco ignored its advice.

Honestly, he was surprised he’d slept this long. He certainly wouldn’t be going back to sleep tonight. Feeling a mite overheated, and gross with sweat, Draco got up and lit the lamps, shuffling as the adrenaline slowly waned. He gathered a towel, soaps, and clothes, and quietly left his dorm room to take a shower.

The war was over. Won or lost- Draco couldn’t tell. He barely felt like he knew which side he was on. He’d never finished his seventh year (and what he had done hadn’t been much of an education, more of an exhibition in torture, really.) and he didn’t know what had possessed he or McGonagall, but he had written and she accepted. It was only when he’d actually arrived at Hogwarts that he came to realize he wasn’t the only one who had returned for an eighth year.

Many of the Gryffindors of the previous year. A Ravenclaw or two. And the only Slytherins to return were himself, Pansy, and Blaise. He hadn’t seen any Hufflepuffs yet. Even then, the eighth year was small. A classroomful, at best. So they shared a common room, and had been given separate dorm rooms according to the House and gender. Draco had immediately kicked Blaise out and made him sleep in the so far unused Hufflepuff boy’s dorms. He didn’t think Blaise really minded all that much- they both liked their privacy.

Another perk of being an eighth year student was that their bathrooms were attached subtly to the common room. One for boys, one for girls.

Draco felt a flood of almost overwhelming relief when he found both common room and bathroom empty. None of them slept exactly peacefully anymore. The year the Dark Lord had nearly taken over for good hadn’t been beneficial to anyone’s psyches.

Draco layed his things down on a counter nearby his chosen stall, well within arm’s reach, and turned the water on scalding hot. But the time he got out, he’d be red as a lobster.

_Good_ , he thought viciously.

As he soaped up his hair, he couldn’t help but think of how very much had stayed the same. And how very much had changed.

Lucius did not escape Azkaban, and Narcissa only scraped by by the skin of her teeth. Harry had testified at the trial, in favor of Narcissa and Draco, but against Lucius. Draco couldn’t fault Harry. A lesser man, or maybe a better one, would have lied, exaggerated, get all of them locked up. Draco had been of age at the time, it had been a possibility. But Harry had been honest. Nothing more, nothing less than the truth.

Draco’s parents had loved him with a ferocity like lions, like cobras. He had been spared no expense, had wanted for nothing. When he was young, though he was expected to act a certain way before company, he could remember Malfoy Manor as full of light and sunshine. Narcissa was a doting, if hovering, mother, and rather over protective. Lucius has been, not cold exactly, but distant. And for many years, in Draco’s eyes, he could do no wrong. He had always expected a lot of Draco, but Draco had never minded. The challenge was always a welcome one.

But people change. Grow up, and grow old.

Draco had always been able to see his mother as he always had, though she became more tense and tightlipped as the years passed. Lucius, on the other hand… By the time Draco was fifteen, he struggled to see even a glimpse of the man he’d always known. By sixteen, Draco had a writhing mark on his arm, tears on his face, and the distinct impression that he didn’t know anything at all.

And then he was here, his body marred with more scars than he could count. The Mark no longer phased him, flashes of black and grey as he rinsed his hair. It was the others he tried to ignore. The gashes on his hips, the tooth marks in his ribs, the slashes across his chest, all different ways to brand him a monster.

He blinked those memories away. Not the time. He came here to decompress, not have a bloody flashback.

Draco was here, and his mother was at the Manor, and his father in Azkaban. He should be outraged at his father’s fate. He should care- _somebody_ should care. Instead, Draco struggled to feel anything at all about it.

With a sigh, Draco left the shower and dried off, getting dressed mechanically. His knees and back protested, prompting him to look out the window to see if he could spot any clouds on the horizon. It was too dark, so he gave up.

The Malfoy fortune, or what the Ministry knew of it, was just about gone. Seized, for war reparations. But there were other accounts, other names, and Narcissa was smart. She wouldn’t starve. Draco thought briefly of writing her, and then thought better of it.

Unlike their fortune, the Malfoy reputation would not be so easily salvaged. Their name no longer opened doors, but slammed them. Draco had played with the idea of changing it, but guiltily backed down from the notion each time.

He looked himself in the mirror. Perhaps he ought to grow his hair out.

-=-

Monday was long. Draco went to breakfast and stared at his empty plate, bile rising in his throat at the thought of eating something. It wasn’t the smell- he got used to his strengthened senses some time ago- he just wasn’t hungry. Still, he choked down an egg and a piece of bacon because Pansy was glaring at him and would likely continue to glare if he didn’t, and Draco didn’t need that kind of headache today.

He made it through two classes with his head down and eyes on his work before something happened. In his third class, Advanced Ancient Runes, something small and wet and _cold_ stuck itself to the back of his neck. He had a horrible feeling that he knew exactly what it was- he’d spat a fair few at Longbottom in their earlier years.

Still, as calmly as he could, he reached back and pulled it off his neck. He did not turn around. He continued sketching the runes on the board and their meanings.

It happened again, and again, and Draco promised himself another long, hot shower in lieu of lunch. He refused to react. He focused on how hot the room was, focused on an itch on his hand, on his notes. He didn’t turn around. It happened all through class, until the professor finally called time.

Draco took his time cleaning up. He’d learned within the first week that leaving anything other than last was a good way to get himself tripped or hexed. By the time he’d deemed it safe, the halls were deserted, or near to it, all the way back to the dorm.

Draco took that shower, scrubbing his neck and chest and back raw. He still had some time before his next class, so he decided to get there early. He was waiting calmly by the door, bag over one shoulder and feeling _much_ better, all things considered, when the rest of the class began to arrive.

First were Granger and Weasley, arm in arm. Granger was talking animatedly about something, but Draco was too surprised with the fact that they were ignoring him to notice or listen to what it was. He’d never been outright and completely ignored by them before. It was strangely disheartening to not even receive a wary glance.

Frustrated with himself for feeling this way, Draco grit his teeth and pulled out his Transfiguration textbook and buried his nose in it. He was _not_ going to pander to _anyone_ , least of all _them_ , for attention of any kind. Things were _not_ that bad- this was better, in fact. Didn’t he _want_ to disappear?

More students gathered, and on one of Draco’s cursory glances overtop of his textbook, his eyes found Pansy’s. She was _furious_ , and Draco could only imagine what she was waiting to say to him.

Well, she could wait a little longer, couldn’t she? As soon as Professor McGonagall opened the doors, Draco slipped inside and took a seat in the second row.

The row the Golden Trio usually took up.

Seating wasn’t assigned, but everyone had picked a place the first few days and basically never changed it. Draco didn’t want to see the kind of stir he was causing, pulling out his parchment and quill and keeping his head down.

“Uh.”

Draco looked up to see a very conflicted Weasley and Granger who seemed, decidedly, suspicious.

“Oh, by all means.” Draco gestured to the rest of the row, smiling tightly without teeth and doing his very best to be pleasant.

Pansy wouldn’t dare sit here if they did, so this was where Draco planned to be. If they hexed him and he ended up in the hospital wing, he’d be able to avoid Pansy all the better.

Weasley shot Granger a vaguely uncomfortable look, and Draco scooted further down the bench, more towards the end. They both took a seat, about as far from Draco as possible, and he turned back to his things to hide his face. He resisted turning to find Pansy.

Fifteen minutes into the lecture, the classroom door opened. Nobody much turned around, and Draco nearly jumped out of his skin when Harry-sodding-Potter sat beside him.

“What’d I miss?” He breathed to Draco, leaning too close while he got out his supplies to start taking notes. Draco couldn’t help but stare, one eyebrow raising slowly.

Potter smelled like sunshine and grass off the Quidditch pitch and sweat. It wasn’t unpleasant. When Draco didn’t answer, Potter looked up with a mildly confused look on his face and seemed to realize his mistake, spotting his friends over Draco’s shoulder.

“Er.” He said, eloquently.

Once, Draco might have rolled his eyes. Snorted. _Something._ Honestly, _this_ is what saved the Wizarding World and life as they all knew it? Who kept him from Azkaban? Instead, he sighed through his nose and pushed over his last two pages of notes without comment and bent his head to write more.

He felt Potter staring at him for a long time, but refused to acknowledge him. Eventually, he seemed to come to his senses and began to copy Draco’s notes. He paused a lot, and Draco couldn’t help but wonder if his handwriting was hard to read. He glanced over.

Potter skimmed his notes, brow furrowed, lips moving silently as his fingers of his left hand hovered over each word before pausing to write his own version of them on his own parchment. Draco was instantly distracted by watching him. His ink was standard black, whereas Draco favored a dark green color. His handwriting was messy, little better than chicken scratch, but it was better than Pansy’s, so Draco had little trouble reading it, even from his odd angle.

Draco’s own handwriting was neat and small and cursive, with the first letter of each new bullet given a flourish so he could distinguish separate points from each other. Potter seemed to have caught onto that, but he used quick little dashes.

Draco felt this stupid, warm syrupy feeling pour into his chest. Fondness. Draco turned his gaze away, letting himself feel this sort of bottled sunshine. He’d long ago given up trying to differentiate between love and hate. That was the quickest way to drive himself mad, surely. Potter never had to know, after all. And what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, or Draco.

So let him be infuriating and impossibly charming in the same breath. What did it matter? Draco didn’t flush at these things anymore. He hoarded these moments selfishly, these few short memories untainted by the past. Draco sat, and felt warm, and forgot for a while that Potter would never be his, and that his life was headed for a raging bin fire the moment he graduated.

-=-

After choosing homework over dinner, Pansy cornered Draco in the common room. Before he could get up and make another escape, she charmed his ass to his seat. When Draco glared, Pansy just smiled and reclined in the chair across from him. Draco had chosen a spacious but secluded table next to the fireplace, mostly separate from the common room proper. The chairs were uncomfortable without a cushioning charm, but at this point, after everything, Draco would take anything over being the center of attention.

He was realizing now, of course, that this was a horrible idea and what the _fuck_ was he thinking?

Spotting Blaise, Draco shot him a furtive, hopeful look. His heart jumped as Blaise walked over, only to scowl as he just sat down and grinned at him and Pansy.

“Finally pinned him down?” He asked rhetorically.

Draco scowled and returned his focus to his potions essay. They might have cornered him, but he would give them his attention when he was good and ready, and not a moment sooner.

The common room slowly emptied, and whereas Draco had started his essay out of spite, he became genuinely invested in it as he neared the fourth paragraph, flipping through his textbook and notes to find his references. By the time he sat back to stretch, Blaise was dozing with his head in his hand and his elbow on the table. Pansy had, apparently, not gotten that bored, because she was still staring at him.

Draco sighed through his nose.

“Alright. What.” He demanded, spreading a hand in invitation.

“You need to eat.” Pansy really didn’t beat around the bush. Usually, Draco liked that quality in her, but not so much at the moment.

“ _Pansy._ ” Draco frowned. She was unrelenting, staring him down.” I’m _fine._ ” He insisted.

“You’re losing weight, Draco. Even Blaise has noticed.” She flicked her hair impatiently.

“‘S true.” Blaise said, voice full of sleep but eyes bright. Draco scowled.

How could he explain to them that he had more important things to do and worry about than eating? How did he explain that the thought of food alone was enough to make him full, and the sight or smell of it enough to make him sick? There was no way to say it, no way to make them understand.

Draco set his mouth in a hard line. Once upon a time, the expression would have cowed Pansy. Now, though, she didn’t back down. He supposed it did take some guts to return to Hogwarts, after what she’d done. _Why_ , for the love of Salazar, did she have to find that courage _now_?

“I’m _fine._ ” He ground out. “Let me up.” He knew she wouldn’t, and he wasn’t about to beg, but he wanted out of this situation yesterday.

“And Potter?” Pansy asked.

“What about Potter?” Draco felt suddenly dizzy, off balance. What did Potter have to do with anything?

“You think you’ll have a chance with him at this rate?” Pansy leaned closer to say this quietly, eyebrows raised, eyes searching.

Draco’s mind went blank. There was a strange ringing in his ears. It didn’t really matter so much that she knew, or that she’d revealed him to Blaise. Rumors like this had flown around for years, and anyway, Draco no longer had a reputation to destroy. If she wanted to blackmail him, he had nothing to give her- no money, or property, no social standing. And the same went for Blaise- Draco had nothing to give.

So he didn’t see what they had to gain from either revealing or keeping his secret. Which just left him with… They were genuine. They wanted him to have the things he wanted. To be happy. Draco felt something go cold in his chest, and he sort of wanted to swallow his tongue.

“What makes you think I have a chance with Potter in the first place?” Draco asked flatly.

“He was staring at you all night tonight. Until he went to bed.” Pansy scoffed.

Draco began to gather his items, trying to put his essay in his bag. The wolf scratched at his insides.

“It doesn’t mean anything, Pansy. Probably because I sat next to him and his friends in Transfiguration. He probably thinks I’m up to something. Don’t- don’t look for things that aren’t there.” He shoved his textbook in his bag too hard, getting it caught on the side of the bag.

“Oh, come off it, Draco. You could go for him- stop this self-pity crap.” Blaise groaned.

“Self-pity?” Draco snapped, giving up for the moment on his book and bag. “I’m being _realistic_. I did my best to make his life a living hell for years. I let the most loyal followers of the Dark Lord into this school, which Potter cares about more than maybe any other student here. My aunt killed his godfather and tortured his friends. The Dark Lord _lived in my house_ for _two_ _years_.” Draco was breathing too hard, and his eyes ached. “His friends were imprisoned in my house. My father near killed his girlfriend- and he _has_ a girlfriend. Need I go on? Because I will.”

Pansy and Blaise were staring at him in shock. He’d probably not said this much all year, let alone ever spoken about what happened last summer.

“ _Assuming_ he’ll let the past be the past, which I _highly_ doubt, his friends certainly will not. Hypothetically, if he did want to be with me, he’d either leave in deference to his friends or leave them in deference to me and I- I wouldn’t ask that of him.” Draco felt the fight go out of him. He fidgeted with his bag again.

“Besides.” He continued, more softly. “I have nothing to bring to that relationship. If anything, I’ll be seen as a social and monetary leech. And then there’s this, or did you both forget?” He shifted his left arm pointedly. He felt sharp and raw and venomous. “You think he’d want to be confronted with this every day?” He gestured to himself entirely. “A reminder, a symbol of everything and everyone who ever wanted him dead? To see him and his absolutely devastated? No, twist it however you want. Make a list of pros and cons for me. I guarantee you’ll always come up with the same conclusion.

“I am no good for Harry Potter, and our lives will all go much easier if he just keeps ignoring my existence. I’ve done him enough harm, and he’s done me too many favors. No. No.” Draco gave up entirely on his book and bag and collapsed a little, withdrawing his arms.

“He will never look at me that way. Good for him.” Draco ran his hand through his hair, not looking at Blaise’s shocked expression, nor the concern in Pansy’s eyes. “I’ll eat a full breakfast tomorrow. Let me up, Pansy.”

“Draco-”

“Parkinson. Let. Me up.” He didn’t want to hear whatever she had to say.

She murmured the counter spell, and Draco got up with an armful of his things. He felt tired. And now he’d had a very un-Malfoy moment, if that even really meant anything anymore. He was, in hindsight, embarrassed and humiliated, and he just wanted the day to be over. He hadn’t even told them about the other thing, either.

Tomorrow, he could pretend like it had never happened, any of it. He closed the door to his room softly and collapsed into bed without even undressing.

-=-

Draco slept fitfully, dreaming of claws and teeth and pain, but he managed to sleep through the night. He woke feeling more exhausted than was fair. Then again, he hardly deserved ‘fair’. Still, he got up and changed his clothes, dragged a brush through his unruly hair. When he deemed himself presentable, he left his room to see Pansy and Blaise waiting for him. He really wasn’t getting away with anything, apparently.

Draco reshouldered his bag and met his friends, silent as they left the common room. He wasn’t a morning person in the first place, and being this exhausted ought to be physically impossible.

Breakfast passed without incident. Draco’s end of the eight year table was, as usual, occupied only by himself, Pansy, and Blaise, which Draco didn’t actually mind all that much. Better to be left alone than to be subject to so many stares and whispered insults. None of which were insulting beyond the fact that people thought that that kind of petty maliciousness would actually affect him. He used to be a master of that sort of provocation.

Draco, under Pansy’s watchful gaze, forced down two eggs, a piece of toast, and eight rather small strawberries. He felt like he was going to vomit the moment he’d finished, but Pansy looked pleased and offered him some water, so Draco supposed if he didn’t have to have another interrogation forced on him, then it would have been worth it.

Involuntarily, Draco’s eyes found Potter, further down the table- who was already staring right at him. Draco blinked in surprise, freezing. Potter had up until now, and likely intentionally, been ignoring Draco. Like now that everything was over, Draco was of no consequence. Draco had tired not to focus on it, instead just tried to survive. But now Potter was looking at him and Draco couldn’t read his face but he’d forgotten what it felt like to be under those emerald eyes.

It used to be so satisfying, getting a rise out of the Golden Boy. Letting everyone see how imperfect their savior was. Now, with last night fresh in his mind, Draco didn’t know what to think. He could instigate, like he might have back in fifth year, but his heart wouldn’t be in it. They’re not children anymore, and Draco was tired of the back and forth. But if Potter started it, if Potter wanted the familiarity of jibes and jinxes, Draco would oblige.

He felt as though he’d probably always answer, if Potter called. Which made him no better than the rest of Potter’s endless fanclub. Potter still hadn’t looked away.

Draco broke and looked down at his plate, pushing his strawberry leaves around. He had a class to get to.


	2. October

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They mean well.

As the weeks dragged on, Draco found himself less and less on the receiving end of tripping jinxes, stinging hexes, and other, less pleasant attacks in the halls. He had the suspicion it had something to do with the fact that he’d started seeing Potter _everywhere_ . It felt like sixth year again, except this time, Draco _knew_ he was being followed.

Potter still hadn’t mastered the art of subtlety. He was in the library when Draco was in the library, took his meals at the same time, retired to the common room at the same time. Draco had to be careful what hiding places he frequented, lest Potter discover him. Even, once, Draco found him passing in a dungeon corridor Draco knew to remain largely unused as it was far from in-use classrooms, and the Slytherin common room both.

Draco had appropriated one of the rooms for potion brewing, something he found himself particularly good at and soothing to do besides. It reminded him of Severus. Early summers, spent in the shade of his godfather’s house, kicking his feet while Severus brewed every potion under the sun. He would let Draco watch if he was quiet, and would mutter under his breath or hum tunelessly in thought.

Draco had never been bored by those afternoons, when his parents dropped him off for whatever it was they did when he wasn’t around. Any other child would have snuck outside to play, but Severus had always held him in thrall without ever having to say a word.

When Draco caught him, Potter had stood there, staring, obviously knowing he’d been caught, and Draco had stared back until finally-

“D’you wanna come to the Great Hall with me?” Potter blurted.

Draco had hesitated. Surprise, confusion, suspicion, and pleasure had ripped through him, leaving him dazed. Was this even real? Harry Potter, asking him to dinner? Unless Pansy had sent him, because she was a meddler, or maybe Potter wanted Salazar-knew-what from him.

He nodded, slowly and after a long pause. Potter smiled, his face full of relief, and they’d gone to supper. The walk was silent, but somehow amiable. Draco had convinced himself Potter was just being polite, trying to avoid confrontation, and so had decided to take his usual seat, far from everyone else and expecting Potter to also take his usual seat in the middle of everybody.

Instead, Potter plopped down right next to him. Draco felt the same dizzying swirl of emotions as before. But he had to say something, for Potter’s own good.

“Are you barking?” He managed, under his breath.

“You already finished your Transfiguration essay, right?” Potter wasn’t even looking, busy filling his plate. Draco couldn’t tear his eyes away from the side of Potter’s face.

“Days ago. You didn’t?” Draco shifted, subtly looking around as he scooped mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Your friends look injured, Potter.”

“I can’t get passed my introduction. Every time I try, I just draw a big blank.” Potter didn’t even seem concerned.

Draco gave up. If Potter wanted to commit social suicide, far be it from Draco to stop him. And, selfishly, Draco didn't _want_ him to leave. The conversation was weird, at first. Stunted. But as they grew into it, Draco found himself swept up in Potter's hair. His eyes. The way his glasses kept slipping down his nose, over and over, only to be pushed up when Potter absolutely couldn't stand it anymore.

Draco forgot himself. Forgot the eyes that had to be watching them. Forgot his arm, the bite, the scars, why this was such a horrible idea. He basked in sunshine fondness, smiled, laughed softly. He tried to hide it in derision and coughing, but never quite succeeded. Potter was laughing and smiling with him, and before he really knew it, Draco felt full and warm. He’d eaten dinner, and somehow hardly thought of it at all.

Because of Harry.

There was a part of him that had alarm bells going off, warning lights flashing. Draco didn’t care. Pushed it out of his mind. Because Harry was getting up to go to bed, and it really would be a shame to end this conversation early. Draco got up, too, ducking his head against the stares and whispers, and followed Potter out.

They had an interesting banter, made up of snark and wit, and really, Draco hadn’t given Potter enough credit in the past. He was brilliant. They were brilliant. Draco was loathe to go to bed at all if it meant they could keep talking.

They stayed late in the common room, and Draco went to bed warm, and still mentally arguing that his Nimbus 2001 may no longer be exactly top of the line, but it was the flyer that counted just as much as the broom and no matter what Potter was riding, Draco could outstrip him any day.

-=-

He awoke to staring. An awful lot of staring. It followed him through the common room, into the Great Hall (where someone hexed his pumpkin juice to taste like swamp water, so Draco left without eating anything) and through his classes until Potter caught him just after Potions with a continued argument about Quidditch, and Draco was engrossed again.

All through lunch, until they had to split because Harry had Care of Magical Creatures with Weasley, and Draco had Advanced Ancient Runes with Granger. Not that they spoke to one another. Harry and Draco split in the hallway outside the Great Hall, and Draco watched Potter go, he belatedly realized they’d been followed by the other two. He watched as Weasley caught up with Harry at a light jog and caught his arm, talking to him in a low voice.

Reminded, suddenly, of who he was and of who Potter was, Draco turned on his heel to go and found himself walking down the hall with Granger. Well, not _with_ , precisely. Draco favored hugging the walls these days, staying out of the way of other students- if someone still shoulder-checked him, he wasn’t as likely to fall.

Granger walked along the opposite wall, shooting him glances he didn’t return and never once speaking to him. Draco let it be. He had a horrible sinking feeling in his gut and was no longer feeling quite so sociable.

They arrived to a small crowd outside the door, milling about.

“Class is canceled.” A Gryffindor informed Granger. “Professor Babbling has a niece giving birth today.”

“Oh!” Granger blinked.

Draco tuned her out, realizing that he was now faced with a mob of Gryffindors, mostly, and younger Slytherins who would offer exactly zero protection. He began to walk briskly away-

Draco had gotten two corridors away and a staircase down when it was abundantly clear he was being followed. Three really big Gryffindors. The halls were deserted- everyone in a lesson. Draco swallowed, trying to stop the quiver in his chest. He was tall, sure, but he was about as thick as a stick, and painfully aware of it.

“You better run, Malfoy!” One of them shouted.

They were laughing, taunting him- if he did run, maybe he could lose them near Myrtle’s bathroom. Maybe they wouldn’t think to look there.

He ran.

The boys whooped and hollered and chased him, and Draco felt like if he looked, he wouldn’t see three teenage boys but instead three fully grown Death Eaters. He whipped around the corner and ducked into Myrtle’s bathroom, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle his gasps for air.

It didn’t matter. They filed in, grins too wide, voices too loud. It became a blur- he couldn’t help but retreat to that place in his mind where pain meant nothing. It didn’t matter, he’d felt pain before. They used the muggle way, maybe to hide their identities in case their wands were tested. Someone should have told them not to bother- Draco wouldn’t tell, even if he knew them.

By the time they left, Draco was on the floor, bloodied and aching, trying to draw in breath but his chest wouldn’t inflate. He rolled to his stomach from his side, baring his teeth in pain. A small whimper made it through his clenched jaw, and he levered himself up enough to cough. Blood colored the tile, and Draco tongued the inside of his cheek, making a surprised broken sound at finding it cut. They must have hit him in the face.

Draco allowed himself to lay there, sometimes spitting blood onto the floor and catching his breath. The wolf prowled under his skin, and he closed his eyes to swallow back bile.

“Draco?” A tentative voice came from around the sink.

“Hullo, Myrtle.” He wheezed.

“Did they hurt you, Draco?” She was closer now. One of her icy hands landed on his back, and he almost choked. “They hurt me, too. Olive Hornby broke my wrist.” She sniffed.

“That’s awful, Myrtle.” Draco managed to sit up, and leaned himself against the wall.

His nose had started to bleed, so he leaned his head back and lifted his sleeve to try to staunch it.

“Your eye is swelling.” Myrtle supplied helpfully. “I could put my hand on it, if you want.” She batted her eyelashes shyly and was already reaching out. “It’s a lovely shade of purple.”

“Thanks, Myrtle, but I don’t want to get blood on you.” He tried to smile, but his cheek screamed.

Myrtle withdrew, and Draco spat to the side. If he waited long enough, he could make it up to the dormitory before anyone left dinner. He managed to stand, though it was a slow process. His back and knees were refusing to move and he sort of stumbled into the sink. He spent a few long moments, braced against the porcelain and watching blood drip into the drain. How familiar.

How could he have been so stupid? Even to let himself pretend, even for just a moment. It wasn’t so much that he’d pretended- he’d done that plenty of times. It was that he’d let everyone see. That he and Potter might actually get along. The Saviour and the scourge, what a pair. No, it couldn’t be. Because this was what Draco was, and where his life was headed, and where his choices had gotten him. Potter deserved the glory, the peace, the win. He’d fought long enough for it, after all, sacrificed enough for it. And what had Draco fought for? Sacrificed?

“If you die, Draco, you can share my toilet.” Myrtle offered, almost cheerfully.

“Thanks, Myrtle.” Draco turned on the sink, rinsing the blood away.

-=-

In reality, Draco made it to the common room before his knees simply couldn’t hold him anymore, and he collapsed into a plush armchair in a corner. Maybe no one would bother him here, and he could just rest for a minute. He’d get out of everyone’s way, he just needed to rest...

He woke up to Pansy yelling as she came through the portrait hole.

“I thought we’d made a _breakthrough_ , Blaise!” She was saying.

_Shit._ He tried to lever himself up in the chair, but since he’d been motionless, the aches had set in. the muscles in his back gave out, and he slumped back into the chair.

“Pansy, calm down. I’m sure he just- Draco?” Blaise was suddenly there, looking gobsmacked.

“I…” Draco couldn’t try to pretend this wasn’t what it looked like. It was _exactly_ what it looked like. “I’m sorry.” He offered at last.

“Draco, who did this?!” Pansy grabbed his hands, squeezing before pulling out her wand and casting simple diagnostic spells on him.

She wanted to be a Healer, Draco remembered. She liked to get ahead of the curve. He swallowed and tried not to answer, but Pansy was looking more and more upset, and more people were starting to return from dinner, and Draco didn’t want a scene.

“I’m fine, Pans.” He tried. “Really, I’m okay.” He tried to stand, to prove it, but his back seared with pain and he fell back into the chair.

“You can’t even _stand_ , Draco!” She cried, flicking her wand and casting a warming charm over him.

He didn’t even realize he’d been cold.

“What happened? Malfoy?” Potter.

Draco looked away. His chest felt tight with anxiety.

“Potter!” Pansy snapped, rounding on him, furious tears in her eyes. “This is your fault! Did you think it was funny?! Oh, _ha ha_ , let’s paint a _big target_ on Malfoy’s back because he _deserves_ it!” She was vicious.

“No, Pans, it’s not his fault-” Draco glanced fearfully around the room. They were starting to gather a crowd. Even Blaise looked like he was getting nervous.

“Did you tell your little friends to ambush him? How _dare_ you, Potter. _Go away_ , before I hex you so bad only a _gnome_ would want to look at you!”

She stood, panting. Potter looked shocked. Draco wanted to sink into the floor and never appear again. Maybe he’d take Myrtle up on her offer.

Blaise drew himself up, put on his most regal and imperious expression, and glared at the students gathered.

“What are you all looking at?” He demanded venomously. The mob started to disperse.

“I’ll, er, catch you later, Malfoy.” Potter said, backing cautiously away from Pansy until he could beat a safe retreat.

“You didn’t have to do that, Pans. It’s not his fault.” Draco managed lowly, once it seemed safe to converse.

“Well he didn’t bloody help you, either!” She declared, waving her wand and murmuring healing spells for the worst of Draco’s pain. “He thinks just because the war is over, he can stop being the Saviour? Did it ever occur that maybe _you’re_ part of the wizarding world too and maybe _you_ need saving sometimes?!”

“That’s exactly it, Pansy. The war is over. Everyone gets to be normal now, including Harry Potter. And I didn’t _need_ saving, I handled it perfectly fine on my own, thank you.” Draco couldn’t find the energy to bristle like he wanted to.

“This doesn’t look like ‘perfectly fine’ to me, Draco.” Blaise butted in, earning himself a glare from Draco and an approving gaze from Pansy. “No, seriously. Put everything else aside, you could have been killed. Not that Pansy’s skills aren’t phenomenal-”

“Thank you, love.” Pansy interjected tartly.

“- but if she hadn’t been here, you would have ended up in the Hospital Wing. You should still go, just in case. No offense, Pans.”

“None taken.” She sniffed.

Blaise was looking at him too pleadingly, and Draco really just wanted to tell them both to fuck off. Instead, he stared mullishly down at his lap.

If he went to the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey would discover his… condition. She would want to know how and why, and where was he getting Wolfsbane. She would find his arms. His scars. She’d have him carted off to the mental ward at St. Mungo’s faster than he could call ‘snitch’. And even if none of that happened, he’d have to explain why he was there. That he’d- gag- been attacked, and who attacked him, and did he defend himself?

And if he revealed who attacked him, they’d retaliate. Or their friends would. And if Draco threw up anything more than a Protego, he’d get chucked right into Azkaban next to dear old dad.

“I’m not going to the Hospital Wing.” He said, at long last.

“Draco, _why_ ?!” Pansy cried, finally putting her wand away. “Madam Pomfrey is a lot of things, but she’d never _not_ treat you or something!”

“I know!” Draco hissed, looking around furtively for anyone listening.

No good. Potter was staring and Draco didn’t trust those who appeared busy.

“Look, you just need to drop it, okay?” He tried.

“Sorry, mate.” Blaise said, shaking his head.

“I’m not going to! It’s like sixth year again, Draco, and I _hate_ you thinking you’re alone or like you can’t tell anyone what you’re going through. We’re your _friends_ , Draco, why won’t you let us act like it?!” Pansy stomped her foot.

Because it’s dangerous. Because once they know, maybe they won’t want to be his friends anymore. Because one of Draco’s friends was dead and the other was on house arrest, and he didn’t want either of those for Pansy or Blaise.

“Because- “ Draco faltered. “I…” It was no good. Pansy had rendered him speechless.

He quieted and didn’t try again, but that seemed to actually be okay. Pansy sat down next to him in a huff, and Blaise started talking about Arithmancy, and for a while, things were normal. Draco found himself dozing listening to them go back and forth, and Pansy really did do a good job, even though she couldn’t totally heal him; the worst was gone.

When he woke again, it was because a bright shaft of morning light was directly in his eyes. Pansy, stretched out on the floor, rolled over, and Blaise was snoring from the vicinity of the couch.

Draco lounged a moment longer, feeling his various bruises wake up too, and thought he really didn’t deserve friends like these two.

-=-

And then he went to class. Draco skipped breakfast, because looking at the Great Hall made his mouth fill with a taste of swamp water, and he didn’t fancy vomiting all over the table.

That morning it was double Potions with Gryffindors. Draco arrived way early and picked a seat at the front of the room, to the far left so he was still out of the way. Slughorn arrived next, and Draco offered a nod in greeting, but Slughorn just acted like he wasn’t even there. Draco bowed his head to set up his cauldron and didn’t look up again until the lesson began in earnest.

As they brewed, Slughorn passed back essays. When he handed back Draco’s, it didn’t surprise him that the grade was a fat, circled D. He wasn’t surprised, but it still hurt. He’d checked it over so many times… He was just glad he was at the front of the room so no one could see his face.

At the end of the lesson, Draco corked a sample of his hangover cure (a perfect canary yellow, with a slight scent of ginger and mint) and brought it to the front. He waited until the room was near empty before approaching Slughorn’s desk, where the Professor had begun to set the potion samples carefully aside.

“Professor-” Draco’s fingers felt numb, but he held on to his essay. “Professor, I’m sorry to interrupt, I just- I was curious as to why my paper got a D, sir.”

Slughorn didn’t look up.

“The paper was meant to explore the history of the hangover cure. As I recall, you simply stated the methods of brewing.”

“I-I understand how it could be missed, Professor, but I dedicated this section here to the history-”

“The grade is final, Mister Malfoy.” Slughorn fixed him with a hard look, and Draco averted his eyes and rolled his essay back up.

“I understand. Sorry for taking up your time.” Draco cleaned up his station as quickly as he could.

He really did understand, and he didn’t blame Slughorn for being prejudiced. It wasn’t _fair_ , but Draco hardly expected fairness at this point. Just as he stepped out of the room, he found himself accosted by Granger, of all people. He knew she was in the class, but why she was _here_ was a mystery.

“Malfoy.” She said, with her head held high, like she expected him to insult her or something. Which, speaking of _fair_ …

He was probably in her way, though. Draco glanced behind himself and shifted to the side, looking back at her to make sure he’d done what she wanted. It must have shown on his face, because Granger sort of faltered and deflated.

“I heard what Slughorn said- sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Can I see your essay?” She asked, holding out her hand and biting her lip.

Draco’s words felt stuck in his throat, and he dug it out of his bag and handed it to her. He watched her skim the words, and Draco could still hear her screams if he listened hard enough. At last, Granger looked up at him so sharply he jumped.

“That _snake_ !” She hissed, with a vehemence that shocked Draco further. “This paper deserves at _least_ an E, if not an O.” She looked ready to charge into Slughorn’s office and hex him. “You are aware of that, right, Malfoy?”

“Yes, but- Granger-” Draco fumbled, too taken off guard. “Don’t duel Slughorn for my sake.” He didn’t know what to do if she did that.

“Oh, no, I’m going to McGonagall.” Granger had a hard, determined look in her eye that reminded Draco strongly of Pansy, and Draco felt sick.

“Granger, please, that’s really going a bit far, don’t you think?” He reached for his essay, but Granger tugged it out of his reach.

“It’s not right, Malfoy!”

“It’s fine, really, I’m used to it- he’s graded my work like this all year.” Draco spread his hands, hoping to placate her.

As opposed to pacifying her, however, it seemed to serve only to incense her further.

“All year?!”

“‘Mione, I thought you said you were- oh.” Weasley came around the corner, and Draco really didn’t feel like this could get worse.

“Draco?” Blaise. Draco stood _wildly_ corrected.

Granger was completely ignoring Weasley, and instead brandished Draco’s essay at Blaise.

“Did you know about this?!” She demanded.

Blaise, coming closer and looking highly suspicious, tilted his head to take in Draco’s handwriting and the letter grade.

“Oh.” He said, before nodding. “Yeah. Don’t tell Pansy, though, she’ll have kneazles.” He turned his attention on Draco. “You okay?”

Draco shrugged miserably, wishing once more that he could just disappear. _Why_ , for the love of Salazar, were they all so damn _interested_ in him?

“Did Slughorn give Malfoy a T or something?” Weasley asked, in a rare moment of insight. “Serves him right, the git-”

“Ronald!” Granger rounded on him. “Bias is a very serious problem!”

“Bias has won us a few hundred house points. Won us the House Cup once.” Weasley raised his hands defensively, until something in Granger’s face made him shrink. “No, yeah, bias is awful.”

Blaise snorted inelegantly, and Draco put his face in his hands. Dragging his palms down his face, he decided to try again.

“Look, Granger, just give me back my essay and we can forget about this.”

“Malfoy, you can’t seriously tell me you’d rather have nothing done about this?” Granger seemed flabbergasted.

“Oh, were you going to McGonagall?” Blaise was _far_ too curious.

Draco threw up his hands, giving up, and pulled his wand (which prompted Weasley to pull his); said ‘ _accio, essay!_ ’ as clearly as he could, and once it flew from Granger’s hand to his, stuffed it in his bag.

“No one is going to anybody about this!” He declared, frustrated. “My grades are fine! _I_ am fine! Stop sticking your nose in my business, Zabini!” And he turned on his heel and stormed away.


	3. November

He ought to have dragged Blaise with him. Draco was now almost a hundred percent sure his friends and Potter’s were scheming. He saw them in the Great Hall sitting together, heads bent, and the same in the common room. He even caught Granger and Pansy in the library, whispering to one another. They stopped when they spotted him, but Draco was too tired to really care. He just grabbed his book and left.

The full moon was approaching. Draco almost forgot. He spent most of his time in his classroom, brewing three doses of Wolfsbane for himself. He was lucky the ingredients were relatively common, or he’d have aroused suspicion already.

Call him paranoid, but even with the security of the potion, Draco didn’t dare risk the transformation inside the castle. While everyone was at dinner, Draco took a bag with his one dose for the night, some homework, and some first aid supplies, and headed across the grounds towards the forest.

It used to scare him. It was full of monsters, after all. _Werewolves._ Well, now he _was_ one of those monsters. There wasn't much that could scare him in there now.

The shade of the trees hit him, turning the dusk to twilight. Draco didn’t go far before finding a small clearing where he set up basic protection wards and a modified notice-me-not charm. He downed his potions, pulled out his homework, and waited. When it got so gloomy he was forced to cast a Lumos, Draco knew it was almost time. He undressed, put everything in his bag and stowed it safely, and waited, naked and shivering, watching the sky.

The moon rose, and Draco hunched as his bones began to shift. Wolfsbane gave him his mind, but not a reprieve from the pain. He put up a silencing charm anyway. He screamed.

-=-

The next morning, Draco snuck back into the castle while everyone was at breakfast. The halls, the common room, both empty. Draco hardly had the energy for a shower, but he was too sweaty and dirty to allow himself to fall into bed just yet, and he was no good at cleaning charms the morning after.

So he showered, but it was really more standing passively under the spray. He lethargically crawled into bed and collapsed, asleep before he even really hit the pillow.

-=-

_Greyback is grinning at him, all teeth and malice. Draco knows what’s going to happen, and he knows it’s going to hurt. Aunt Bella told the Dark Lord that it was Severus that killed Albus Dumbledore, that Draco failed. The Dark Lord had made Draco beg forgiveness and then grovel in gratitude, because this was leniency. This was_ mercy.

_“You can scream, boy. I like it when they scream.” Greyback knocks back a Wolfsbane potion in one go, advancing on Draco._

_The moon rises, Greyback becomes a huge beast. He takes Draco’s hips, claws digging in and drawing blood. He rips Draco’s clothes and forces him down. He enters Draco with blood and spit only to ease the way, drool dripping from his jaws, and Draco yells. He moves immediately, and Draco feels his eyes burn. He wishes someone would come save him, Severus, Harry, his mother,_ someone _, but no one comes._

_At his peak, Greyback snarls and bites down on Draco’s ribs, which fit neatly in his maw._

_Draco screams, then._

_-=-_

Draco awoke in a cold sweat. It was only about eight o’clock, but he was surprised he slept that long. He should eat something, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it down. He needed to prepare for night.

He thought, initially, that he should have slept in the forest. He had considered it before, but dismissed it before, and dismissed it again now. He was in a daze as he took a real shower and packed his bag. These were the few nights where he didn’t care who stared, or why. The few days he seriously considered retaliating against those who shoulder checked him in the hall.

But he didn’t. He tried to doze, he skipped classes, and he waited for the evening. Nobody spoke to him, and Draco wouldn’t have it any other way.

The next two nights passed in a blur, in a haze, and Draco was surprised to find the day after it was all over was a Sunday. He got one full day to recover before it was business as usual. He wasn’t sure if all werewolves had three nights of hell like he did, but for their sakes he hoped not. Sunday morning it was hard to pull himself out of the animal mentality. He curled himself up in a pile of blankets that he dragged down from his dorm in front of the common room fire, watching the dying embers. He felt wrung out, used by the wolf, and exhausted.

“Draco!” It was Pansy. Her voice grated on his sensitive ears and put his teeth on edge.

“Quietly, Pansy, please.” He growled.

“Draco, where were you all weekend? Did you eat _anything_ at all?”

He had. A small rabbit had the misfortune of wandering across his path in the forest. Draco had killed and eaten half of it before the guilt had him retching into the dirt. He was pathetic.

“Studying.” He answered her shortly. “Yes.”

“You look awful.”

She sounded concerned, but all Draco could focus on was the overpowering scent of her perfume and the shrillness of her voice. He couldn’t stand it. He got up without preamble, leaving his sheets and Pansy behind. Something must have prompted her not to follow him, but he was too tetchy to be grateful.

One of Draco’s favored hiding places, besides the classroom in the dungeons, was the third floor corridor. Ever since first year, it had remained unused. And in one of the classrooms furthest away from the entrance to the corridor, there was a lovely window set into an alcove at the left side of the room. Draco was, for once, grateful for his superior hearing and sense of smell. It helped him avoid everyone on his way.

Reaching the classroom, he found it bathed in golden early morning light. He cast a truly awful cushioning charm and plopped down in the sun, Summoning his sheets and gathering them around him. This window had a view (albiet somewhat distant) of the Quidditch pitch, and beyond that, mostly obscured, the Whomping Willow.

The sun was warm, soothing the beast under his skin. It looked like a good, windy day out there… A perfect day for flying…

No sooner had he thought that than a familiar red and gold and black streak soared above the pitch. Draco perked up, feeling his senses come alive. He could smell the dust motes, the old wood of the desks behind him, the vague autumn sweetness of the air beyond the glass. Draco’s skin prickled and sparked- everywhere his skin touched something sent tingles racing up and down his spine.

Draco didn’t play Quidditch anymore. Not since the fiendfyre, and eighth years weren’t allowed to compete in their House’s teams anyway, so there didn’t seem much point in getting on a broom at all. But he’d recognize Harry Potter on a broom anywhere, looking like he was born for it, like he owned the sky.

Draco watched as Potter raced the wind, his form dipping out of sight below the stands before soaring high again. Until morning became afternoon, and Potter stopped appearing altogether. Must have gone inside.

With distraction gone, Draco came back to himself a little. He still felt like a live wire, but that was nothing some food and sleep wouldn’t fix. Just his luck they were his two worst enemies at the moment. Still. He felt comfortable enough here. The sun had warmed his blankets, and though Potter didn’t know it, he’d warmed Draco, and it was quiet and peaceful in this far reach of the castle. He slept.

When he woke, he was standing, breathing hard, his wand brandished at an empty, dark room. His muscles ached, having been asleep and then thrown abruptly into action. Draco reeled for a moment, unable to remember how he’d gotten here- Pansy. Potter.

Right.

Draco lowered his wand, fighting to calm his breathing. Alone. He was alone. He leaned back against the window frame, exhaustion effusing through him. It occurred to him that he’d slept for the whole day; if he’d dreamt, he didn’t remember.

“ _Tempus._ ” Draco flicked his wand.

Silver ribbons shot out, twisting into numbers. 7:18. He’d just missed dinner, then. Draco flicked his wand again, and the ribbon retracted quickly. He considered his bedsheets. Getting them here had been simple, but how to get them back? He thought for a moment. There were other beds up there. And this room was particularly dusty. If he left them, surely they wouldn’t be moved?

Now for food. He wasn’t sure what he could stomach, but he _was_ hungry. Draco straightened his clothes, tucked his wand away, and began to hunt for the kitchens. Just as he was about to leave the third floor corridor, however, he froze.

Sunshine, broom polish, something warm and alive. Potter. Potter?

Draco touched the wall where the scent was strongest, glancing around even though he knew there was no one there to see him, and then leaned in and took a deep breath.

Sunshine, broom polish, sweat, grass, and- _eurgh_ , dust and old socks. Draco reeled back sharply, eyes watering. The scent was strong, fresh. Potter had been through here, was maybe still here. Draco sniffed, looking around again. Had he been found? Salazar, he hoped not. Best leave, before that changed. Draco smoothly turned on his heel and swept from the corridor, wiping his eyes impatiently.

He had been to the kitchens before, in sixth and seventh year, when he had to be secretive, or when he simply couldn’t stand to exist near anyone else. The House Elves were kind, as always, which made Draco vaguely uncomfortable now. They led him to a tiny table without question, taking his hands and talking a mile a minute about the leftovers they had. The table was loaded with them, but it was all piping hot, and Draco couldn’t have cared less because it would have still been delicious if it was cold.

Draco did his best to eat, but hardly finished real food before one of the elves put a piece of chocolate in his hand. Draco took a bite, and warmth flooded him so abruptly involuntary tears stung his eyes.

He ended up hunched over it, tears flowing down his cheeks and clogging his throat and nose, but it was _so good._ It was his mother singing, his father’s praise, Potter’s laugh, Pansy’s fingers in his hair, a dirty joke from Blaise, Severus’ proud smile-

He stuffed chocolate in his face and cried, and for once didn’t hate himself for it.

-=-

The warmth of the chocolate followed him until morning, where he woke feeling rested and realizing he actually slept through the night. He left for class to find not Pansy or Blaise, but Potter. The shock stilled him.

“Come to breakfast with me?” Potter asked.

“Is this a pattern, Potter?” Draco asked wryly, and let himself feel dead chuffed at the way Potter’s ears went red. “Come on, then.” Draco saved him by leading the way.

“So- Ginny’s thinking of joining the Harpies next season.” Potter was more awkward than usual. Draco could hardly blame him.

“They’ll be lucky to have her.” Draco said, though it pained him because he was carrying a fucking bonfire at this point for Potter and the last thing he wanted was to be reminded it would never be by talking about Potter’s _girlfriend_ , but if friends was all he’d get with Potter, then he wouldn’t ruin it by being a git if he could help it.

“Somebody pinch me, I’m dreaming.” Potter grinned.

“What?”

“ _You_ , Malfoy, just said something nice about _Ginny_ , a Weasley.” This was teasing. Potter was _teasing_ him.

“I can be nice, when the mood strikes.” Draco defended casually.

“Sure, but that was downright _kind_. Sweet, even.” Potter gently bumped shoulders with him, and Draco scoffed.

“Well, you can tell her she’ll just have to make do with _you_ , Scarhead. I’m afraid she simply doesn’t have the right equipment to satisfy me.” Draco mused dryly, bumping Potter’s shoulder back. “You _are_ dreaming if you’re thinking of _me_ as _kind_.”

His heart was fluttering at the admission, but it seemed to go right over Potter’s head, which was just as well.

“Sod off-” Potter was laughing, spilling sunshine all over the halls, bouncing off the ceiling. “You’re just a big softy after all.”

Draco grinned anyway, ignoring the rest, because this- _this-_ belonged to him and to him alone.

-=-

Another full moon, another awful recovery. The chocolate helped- Draco never went anywhere without these days- but it wasn’t a cure. And now that he and Potter were _friends_ \- well, that was a balm all on its own.

“Are you ready for this?” Potter asked in a low voice, and Draco was at once reminded of where they were.

McGonagall had gotten together with some mind healers and decided that for optional extra credit for any class, eighth years could choose to face a boggart. Regardless of performance, doing so would count as an E grade- O if the boggart could be put in its place. Draco had only faced a boggart one other time- back in third year, with Professor Lupin. He’d faced it in private, then, and it had taken the shape of the nastiest of father’s peacocks.

He couldn’t imagine the shape it would take now.

“No.” Draco answered honestly. “But I need that E for Potions.”

“I thought you were great in Potions.” Potter answered, surprised.

“I _am_ , Potter.” And Draco left it at that.

Thankfully, it was one on one. There would be no one but the mind healer to witness Draco’s deepest fear. Potter went first, and when he emerged, Draco would bet his right arm he faced a Dementor, even after everything he’d been through. He gave Draco an encouraging nod.

Draco stepped in. The mind healer was a kindly looking woman, and she wrote down Draco’s name without batting an eye.

“Ready, dear?” She asked, hand poised on a large chest. It rattled under her touch.

Draco wasn’t, but he nodded and held his wand at the ready. _Riddikulus,_ he chanted in his mind. _Riddikulus._

She opened the chest, and out clambered a disheveled looking Potter. His eyes found Draco and Draco lowered his wand a fraction, confused. He wasn’t _afraid_ of Potter; not in the slightest.

“ _You_!” Boggart-Potter spat venomously, advancing on him. “I know what you are- filthy, dirty, worthless, were-”

“ _Riddikulus._ ” Draco whispered, his blood gone cold.

There was a crack, and then it was Greyback, transformed but still _grinning_ , and Draco heard him, _gonna eat you up, little rabbit_ \- but he wasn’t sure if it was in his mind or if it came from the boggart-

“ _Riddikulus_ -!”

His father sneered at him. “Look what you’ve done to this family. Greyback’s _whore_ -” He scoffed.

Draco couldn’t breathe. He felt so cold, and black was starting to seep into his vision-

“ _Riddikulus_!” The mind healer’s spell rang out as she wrestled the boggart back.

She gave him a calming draught and a kind smile and sent him on his way. Potter was not waiting for him outside.

Later, in the common room, fresh marks stinging his wrists, Draco cleared his throat very quickly to get Pansy and Blaise’s attention.

“You guys-” He stopped. Started again. “Do you think I’m a monster?”

“Draco, of course not!” Pansy cried immediately.

Blaise was more assessing, looking Draco up and down before shaking his head. “Nah.”

Draco did what he found himself doing a lot of lately, and left it at that.

-=-

Draco tore up grass, squinting at the lake’s gleaming surface. Beside him, Potter struggled through a Potions essay. They did this often, now. Just hang out. Talk, sometimes. It was more than Draco ever thought he’d get.

“Potter.” Draco didn’t look at him.

“Mm?” Potter didn’t look up either, but more because he wasn’t giving Draco his full attention.

“Do you think I’m-” He hesitated. “-evil?” He settled on.

“What?” Potter looked up. “Malfoy- I don’t think you have an evil bone in your body. I don’t reckon you ever did. Why?”

Draco half shrugged, squinting more at the lake. He didn’t answer, and Potter didn’t press, just frowned and went back to his essay.


	4. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: Draco Digs A Hole

The holidays loomed, and Draco hated it. He wasn’t going home- if he could even call it that anymore, or ever again. Despite his friendship with Potter, and perhaps in part because of it, life hadn’t changed much. He was still the subject of beatings, hexes, jinxes and more from the rest of the student body. Slughorn still graded his work unfairly. He still changed every month, his joins and back still protested, the memory of Cruciatus lingering.

On Christmas, Draco found himself entirely alone in the eighth year common room, which was a blessing in and of itself. He anonymously ordered three bottles of chocolate firewhiskey from the Three Broomsticks and it was officially the best thing invented since Quidditch. His mother wrote him, but the letter was impersonal, filled with cliches, and Draco didn’t know how to respond. He’d sent her a nice scarf in an obnoxious yellow pattern and included a letter indicating he was hoping to cheer her a little. She hadn’t mentioned it in her reply.

He sat by the fire, drank, and allowed himself a modicum of self-pity.

They were working on Patronuses in Defense. He was pretty sure he’d never produce one.

-=-

“ _Expecto Patronum!”_

The words chorused around the room as everyone summoned (or tried to) their silvery beasts. It was only eighth years in the class, and all of the Gryffindors and most of the Ravenclaws had already mastered it, shimmering white animals darting about everywhere. Most of the remaining students were being helped by those who could perform it already, and under their tutelage were starting to be able to produce their first mists.

Draco hadn’t even gotten that far. No one was helping him, and he was supposed to be thinking happy thoughts, but all of them had flown out of his head and he was left standing stupidly by himself in a corner, wand loosely gripped in his hand. They’d been at this for days, and Draco just wanted to disappear.

“Alright, Draco?” Harry bounded up, fresh from helping another student.

He was flushed and excited- teaching suited him, Draco thought, appreciating the way one of Harry’s curls caressed his ear just so. He hummed in lieu of answer, turning his wand nervously in his hand.

“Do you have a memory picked out?”

Harry was just trying to be helpful. He didn’t know that all Draco could think of were Greyback’s flashing teeth and green green light. Draco shook his head.

“No, I- no.” He decided.

Harry drew nearer, lowered his voice because this was meant just for Draco to hear.

“It doesn’t have to be a happy memory, not really. Just something that makes you kind of warm inside- peaceful, sort of.” Harry advised, and looked at Draco so earnestly that Draco closed his eyes to rifle through his own mind.

Something warm- peaceful?

The summer after first year, Severus had let him help in his potions workshop. Draco had been so small then, but so determined. He’d gotten his books early, and Severus helped him through some of the potions they wouldn’t get to in class. Standing over a hot cauldron, his godfather behind him and guiding his motions, lecturing softly- _Expecto Patronum_ \- the heat, the sound of the simmering potion- _Expecto Patronum-_ the acrid scent of crushed roots, the glittering of beetle eyes- _Expecto Patronum_ \- stolen moments with a man who even at that early point was a second father to him- _Expecto Patronum-_ Severus’ low, hoarse laugh- _Expecto Patronum-_ and the _wonder_ … the _wonder_ of a potion gone _right…_

_“Expecto Patronum.”_ Draco whispered, feeling his magic surge.

The whole class had gone silent. Draco opened his eyes and saw- well, the first thing he thought was that he didn’t succeed at all.

“Trying to give me a demonstration, Potter?” Draco asked wryly, dry but not truly upset. He hadn’t gotten it on the first try, which wasn’t surprising but it was disappointing. Severus’ memory should count for _something_ , even something as laughable as a monster’s patronus.

Harry’s silver stag pawed the ground before them, snorting softly, nearly taking up the whole section of room.

“It’s not mine.” Harry murmured.

“Oh come off-” Draco took in the way his other classmates were staring at him, the fact that Harry was _not_ smiling. “-it…”

An anecdote from an old book; _a wizard’s patronus may change or take shape of the patronus of the one they love, though this is rare. For example-_ Draco felt his fingers go numb. It was obvious the same thought was going through everyone else’s heads. Whispers were starting. Harry wasn’t looking at him, not smiling anymore, just watching the stag.

Draco didn’t remember grabbing his bag, or walking out of the room, or making his way to the third floor corridor. He was just suddenly in his secret room, with the view of the Quidditch pitch. Draco dropped his bag in a daze, fingered his wand. With a swish, he moved all of the desks against the walls, making space. He latched on to the memory, and kept his eyes open this time.

“ _Expecto Patronum._ ”

With a trumpeting cry, a silver stag burst from his wand, cantering in circles around the room, hooves soundless on the stone. Draco watched it numbly, turning as it circled, stopping when it came to a stop before him. Draco reached out to touch it, and it was _warm_. So warm.

He was in love with Harry Potter, and by dinnertime the whole school would know.

Draco lowered himself to the ground slowly, feeling as though he ought to sit. He felt like crying, but nothing came out. The stag bent to nuzzle his shoulder and cheek, but he hardly felt it. It dissipated, the room growing colder without it. His wolf whined inside. Draco had hours left to live, and all he could see was Harry’s unsmiling face.

-=-

Draco finally dared to leave the third floor at well passed dinner time. He wasn’t sure what time it was, exactly, but the moon (waxing gibbous- he didn’t have much time) was up and the halls were dark. He was so tired, and gorged himself on chocolate. He just wanted to _sleep_.

So when the shapes of three or four Prefects melted out of the shadows, Draco realized A- that’s not going to happen, and B- it must be earlier than he thought. He tuned out their hissed insults, made sure his wand was safe, and waited. He knew why they were doing this, he didn’t need to hear it. Fuck- they were just _kids_.

The place in his mind where pain didn’t matter was for whatever reason inaccessible, and Draco was completely aware of what was going on. He tried to stay standing for as long as he could, but one of the girls kicked him in the balls hard enough he almost threw up, and he went down to his knees, hunched in on himself. He didn’t make a sound. He didn’t want the portraits to wake up and run for a teacher- he didn’t want these kids to get in trouble for this.

A kick to his face and his nose crunched, started gushing blood, and Draco closed his eyes. He’d gotten very good at spelling blood from clothing. His wolf was snarling, but he held it back firmly.

“My mother _died_ because of _your_ Death Eater friends!” One of the girls cried suddenly, and she did sound as thought she was actually crying. “She can’t love _anybody_ anymore! It’s not _fair!_ ”

“Shh! We’ll get caught!” One of the boys tried to hush her.

“It’s not _fair._ ” She sobbed.

“Who’s out there? We’re _trying_ to _sleep_!” A portrait down the hall grumbled.

The Prefects scattered, tripping over themselves not to get caught. Draco waited until their footsteps faded away, groaning softly to himself. He waved his wand and cleaned himself up, finding his bag in the dark, and leaned heavily on the walls as he made his way to the eighth year dorms. His knees didn’t want to work with him, he still felt nauseous, but it was better off than he’d thought he’d be.

“ _Gobbledegook_.” He mumbled at the portrait, and it swung open.

There was the murmuring of low voices in the common room, and ordinarily Draco would keep looking at his shoes and move along, but then he heard his name and he paused. If they were talking about him, and they saw him now, was he in for more pain? Maybe it was better he leave, he could just sleep in the classroom-

“-he’s _mental_ , honestly.” That was Weasley.

“ _Ron!_ ” That was Granger. Likelihood of getting hexed just increased tenfold. Draco felt himself start to tremble. Couldn’t he catch a break?

“Ron- no. He’s _nice_ , okay?” Harry. Draco swallowed.

“He’s going through a lot, you can’t just dismiss it by calling him mental.” That was Pansy. “And anyways, we can’t help if he doesn’t tell us what’s going on. Are you any closer to that, Potter?”

“Erm- not-not exactly-” Came Harry’s guilty answer.

And Draco- Draco wasn’t even angry. Not really. Pansy had gotten Potter to spy on him, because she was worried. And Potter agreed to it, because he’s nice. Not because he actually wanted to be friends or anything. Draco had been hiding behind a very plush tall-backed armchair, but chose that moment to slide into view. He felt like he wasn’t the one controlling his own body, like it was all a dream. He had never had a choice before, why should now be any different?

“Fell for my charms, Potter?” Draco felt the tiniest of thrills at their guilty jumps. “You said I was nice.”

“Draco!” Pansy gasped, taking in his appearance. He’d cleaned the blood, but his swollen and bruised nose remained.

“You look like hell, mate.” Blaise, who had been reclining with the _Prophet_ draped over his face and who had not jumped, was now half sitting with the _Prophet_ in one hand and his eyebrow raised.

Draco shrugged, eyes sliding away.

Potter vaulted over the back of the couch by the fire where he was sitting, and Draco regarded him with tired bemusement. It wasn't _fair_ that he should be so sexy in such a casual way, like it was nothing. His hands went to Draco’s elbows and he was suddenly in Draco’s space and _oh,_ he’s fucked, he’s so _fucked_.

“What happened?” Harry asked softly, and he smelled like sunshine and broom polish and his eyes said _sincerity_ -

“Just some kids. I handled it.” Draco mumbled, both unwilling and wanting to pull away. _He doesn’t love you, he’s just being nice._

“Why don’t you come sit?” Harry waited for his slow nod before guiding Draco by his elbows to the couch, where Granger scooted to make room for them.

Harry sat him down in the middle and sat on his other side, pressing close and it was so _warm_ . Draco stared at his lap, and his bag resting against his knees. He didn’t want to look at anyone. Everyone was silent for a long time, and he could feel their eyes, but he didn’t care. Harry startled him by taking his hand, and Draco met his eyes. _He’s just being nice, he’s just being nice._

“Just tell us a little?” Harry’s thumb ran across the back of his hand, back and forth, soothing.

And looking into those green green eyes, Draco decided to dig himself a deeper hole, apparently, because he blurted; “I’m a werewolf.”

It wasn’t what he meant to say, and he looked back down at his lap, mortified with himself.

“I’m safe, though.” He added when no one said anything and the anxiety became too much to handle. “I take wolfsbane, and I stay away from the castle.” He swallowed hard. “I’d never- I’d never hurt anyone. I swear.”

“I believe you.” Harry said instantly, gripping Draco’s hand more tightly. “It’s okay.”

Draco blinked furiously and nodded, because he didn’t know what to say.

“Draco?” Pansy asked softly, and Draco realized his eyes were tearing up.

“Shit.” He wiped at them furiously. “I’m fine, I’m- I’ve just never said it out loud before.” He cleared his throat.

And just like that, the whole sordid tale came pouring out. Haltingly, and with more tears than Draco was comfortable with. He didn’t look at anyone, just talked to his hands, like they weren’t there when it happened. He told them how in the summer between sixth and seventh year, the Dark Lord ordered him essentially locked in a room with Greyback the whole summer- his, and his father’s punishment. How Draco didn’t even know how much time had passed until Severus came to collect him for the start of term. Appearances were important, after all.

He didn’t go into detail, though, about how Greyback played with his food. Let them think it was just mundane violence, rather than the more depraved reality. Draco had kept hoping someone would come to save him, but of course no one had.

When he fell silent at last, he didn’t look up. The tension felt so thick Draco could choke on it.

“Is that all, Draco?” Pansy sniffed, tossing her hair. When Draco dared a glance at her, she was smiling, warm and relieved. “We can handle _that_ , Draco. You’re still our friend.” She elbowed Blaise, hard.

“Seconded.” He said sincerely, if a bit late. “Sorry, just- can we see?” He leaned forward with interest, wheels turning behind his eyes.

“What- _no_ .” Draco was somewhere between shocked and happy and so, _so relieved_ \- “No, I’m _safe_ but the chances are never _zero_ -”

“We’ve faced a werewolf before.” Harry said, drawing his attention. “Me and ‘Mione.” He added, with an encouraging smile. “I bet we could take you.”

“ _No_ \- Harry Potter have you _absolutely lost your mind_?!” Draco stood, facing him.

The anger was old, familiar, not as hot or biting as maybe it should have been, and somewhere inside Draco knew that as soon as Harry asked he’d lost the battle ( _he doesn’t love you, he’s just being nice_ ). He’d have kept arguing all night, though, except Pansy took his hand and dragged him to bed in his room, falling into bed with him. They didn’t talk, but she carded her fingers through his hair until he fell asleep.

He didn’t know what he’d do without her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I have no idea if the timeframe of it all is correct but time is a human construct anyway and means nothing


	5. January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finds some coping skills.

“This is insane.” Draco said for what had to be the millionth time.

“You don’t say?” Weasley sighed, as sarcastically as possible. “ _Ouch_ , ‘Mione!”

“Sorry!” Granger whispered back, a touch crossly.

They were striding along across the grounds about as fast as they could manage with the Golden Trio shoved up underneath Harry’s invisibility cloak. (Draco had gotten rather queasy when Harry pulled it out with a flourish of _Harry_ scent and also _old socks_ , which presumably it had been shoved up against in Harry’s trunk all summer. It wasn’t the scent so much as where Draco had smelled it before, and, well….) Pansy and Blaise were both under a very good Disillusionment Charm of Blaise’s doing, so that anyone looking would just see a singular Eight year Potions student. It was the only part of this that Draco had gotten his way on. Before them, the Forbidden Forest loomed.

“You’re all mad, each of you, and I hate you all.” Draco muttered crossly, nervously checking over his shoulder.

“Darling, love, sweetheart, it is _past_ time you lived a little.” Pansy’s voice came from his left.

“And what are we supposed to do, after the big reveal? Hm? Dance in a circle around my hideous form and chant until the Fae fix me and the moon calves come home?” Draco gestured with his hands, exasperated.

“We _could_ do that-” Blaise’s voice came from ahead, and Draco had a feeling he was walking backwards. “-or, and hear me out, _or_ we could drink and play manhunt.”

“I don’t know what that is but it sounds like I get to kill you, so by all means.” Draco snorted.

“In the Forbidden Forest?” Granger hissed. “I’m starting to agree with Malfoy- you’ve lost it.” But she didn’t stop walking, or suggest it.

Once they were under cover of the trees, Blaise took down his charms and Harry stuffed his cloak into a pocket. Draco took the lead, treading the familiar game trail to his clearing. While the others got settled, Draco caught Harry’s eye and pulled him aside.

“Potter, Harry-” Draco started and then stopped, while Harry just stood there, expectant and patient. “I’m sure my potion is right. I’ve never cocked It before. But say I did-”

“It’ll be fine, Draco.” Harry smiled at him bemusedly.

“ _Say I did_ ,” Draco continued, frowning and serious. “that spell you used on me, when I almost-” he choked. “In the bathroom. You cast that and you _run_.”

“Draco-” Harry looked horrified, was pulling away uneasily.

Draco gripped his elbow to stop him, fierce and firm. “ _Harry_. I’m- _changed_ , now. And with the moon, I’ll be stronger. I’ve never been around anyone during a full moon, I don’t know what will happen, and neither do you. That spell won’t kill me, but it might convince me you’re a snack not worth pursuing. If I go for you- for _anyone_ \- you throw _that_ at me and run back to the castle as fast as you can.”

“Draco, I-” Harry still looked unsure.

“ _Please._ ” Draco bit out. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Harry searched his face, his eyes, for a long moment before biting his lip and nodding. Draco nodded back.

By that time, it was nearing moon rise. It had taken considerably more time to get them all to the clearing than it took Draco by himself.

“It’s not going to sound good.” Draco warned them, grabbing his vial and hiding behind a tree to disrobe.

“Would you like it if we’d brought pom-poms, Draco?” Blaise called, already having opened the bottle of firewhiskey he’d brought.

“Piss off, Zabini.” Draco tossed his clothes away, and the vial too once he’d downed it.

He heard Pansy _accio_ his clothes, but as if from far away. Everything felt far away when the moon rose. He could feel it, like a little tug in his gut that pulled him in whatever direction it happened to be. The silvery light was mesmerizing; he could feel it on his skin like a cool balm, like an apology for what was to come.

It was his spine and hips first, it always was. Twisting and cracking, and Draco cried out breathlessly, falling to his knees. As his legs lengthened, the force of bone tearing muscle and thousands of tiny needles piercing his skin from the inside out as he grew fur, he fell onto his hands. Shoulders snapped, elbows, wrists, fingers all changing location and shape. Draco was screaming his throat raw. His face was always the worst, his nose and jaw caving in, his brow lengthening, until he gave in to the urge to shake his head like he was shaking his humanity off to reveal the real beast inside.

After, he laid on the detritus of the forest, catching his breath. Soft whines came from his chest, involuntary and relieved.

“Draco? Are you alright?” Pansy called.

“…Maybe he died.” Weasley muttered, without a hint of venom.

“It certainly sounded like it.” Granger, concerned.

Draco struggled up, shook himself off, and then because he was _wolf_ now and not so much _human_ , let out a low howl that climbed as it went on. He sang, to the moon, the forest, the wind. _I am here. I am of you. Hello, hello._

And, slowly, he emerged from behind the tree, head low and tail still. He didn’t know what he looked like as a wolf, not really. He knew he had white fur, was veritably covered in it. He was tall, his limbs still thin and gangly. He knew in this form his scars were twisted and changed, and no fur grew there. His fore-legs barely had any from elbow to wrist on the inside, and he knew his hips had ugly, gnarled slashes on them. What else there might be, he didn’t know.

Higher thought was more difficult in this form, and their staring made him uneasy.

And with nobody saying anything- Draco shook himself out, snorting and flicking his ears. He broke, sniffing around his clearing. Centaurs had been through here since the last time, their distinct horse scent all over the trees and ground here. Raccoon, fresher than centaur, and rabbit. Fox. Something that smelled bitterly of cleaning products and made Draco sneeze.

“Merlin’s pants, Draco.” Blaise caught his attention, and Draco looked up curiously. “You look badass.”

Draco wagged his tail lowly, blinking at his friends. That certainly hadn’t been the reaction he was expecting.

“Okay, okay, manhunt, how do we play?” Weasley wasn’t nearly as impressed, which, _that_ Draco could deal with.

“We hide-” Blaise motioned to everyone but Draco. “Whoever is found by Draco first has to take a shot. Least shots wins.” He smirked. “Game ends when the bottle’s empty.”

“I’m staying here.” Weasley announced. “Once of us should look out, just in case, I mean…” He fidgeted nervously.

“Good idea! And someone sober to tell us when the bottle’s empty!” Granger quickly saved him from further awkwardness.

Draco was still surprised she was willing to play at all.

“Okay, Draco? Close your eyes.” Pansy declared.

Draco made sure to roll them first with extra exaggeration before laying down and closing them, putting his paws over his nose just so they could be double sure he wasn’t ‘cheating.’ This was absolutely ridiculous, but that feeling of exasperation paled in comparison to the excitement suffusing throughout his body. Nobody had mentioned the Patronus Thing, though it was all over the school by now, and thus Draco could go on pretending. If he and Harry simply weren’t going to talk about it- which, honestly, ignoring it _was_ the polite thing to do- that suited Draco just fine. And this strange hide-and-seek felt like a chase, like an offer, somehow.

When Draco could no longer hear any shuffling, he got up and looked around. Weasley was sitting on the leaf litter trying to read the label on the bottle by wandlight, and no one was in immediate sight. Nose to the ground, he picked the first scent that stood out to him.

Sage and peppers, sick-sweet scent of concentrated calming draught- Pansy, and some health experiment she’d thought up. Draco followed it.

He found Pansy crouched behind a boulder, and gave a short bark. She startled, and then laughed.

“I didn’t hear you at all.” She buried her hands in his fur, scratching and ruffling like she did his hair.

Everyone came out and Pansy took her shot, and everyone hid again. They went another round (Hermione, old book glue, ink, and some kind of hair product) before the first scent Draco caught was Harry’s. He’d know it anywhere, and not having any kind of self control, he followed it.

Harry had concealed himself quite well behind the trunk of a large tree. Draco lowered his head and wagged his tail lowly, whining softly to get Harry’s attention. He looked ethereal in the moonlight, like a shade, like desire. It lit up his cheeks, glinted off his glasses, made his hair look like the surface of the Black Lake. His eyes were dark and glinting. He gave Draco a nervous smile, which Draco returned by nibbling softly at Harry’s robes and nosing against Harry’s hip. Harry’s hand had just landed cautiously on Draco’s head when Draco heard something like thunder in the distance.

He snapped to the sound, searching the trees, ears working to pinpoint it. The thunder was rolling, getting closer, it was sending vibrations up his paws, into his legs.

“What? What is it?” Harry searched the forest where Draco was looking.

A trumpeting kind of call reached Draco’s ears, and he huffed urgently at Harry. They had to leave. Draco knew that sound, and centaurs only came this close to the castle to teach their foals about the stars, because the trees weren’t as dense and it was safer. Which meant they were all in grave danger. After the war, the Centaurs had become increasingly hostile to intruders in the Forest, and Draco knew from experience that in this skin they’d chase after him on sight.

Draco took the hem of Harry’s robes in his teeth, mindful and careful, and tried tugging him back to the clearing. Harry resisted momentarily, but the call came again, close enough now for his human ears, and he followed quickly after that. He also saved Draco the trouble of finding everyone else by sending up red sparks with his wand. The universal signal for ‘help’ flushed everyone else out.

Draco ignored their hushed, rushed conversation, searching the treeline, trying to determine if the herd was going to pass them by.

But Draco’s luck wasn’t like that.

A sable-coated centaur burst from the shadows, startling the humans and causing Draco to widen his stance. Draco could hear the shuffling of more hooves behind him, the rest of the herd waiting just out of sight.

“Bane.” Harry’s voice was a balm to Draco’s nerves.. Harry was calm, collected. Strong. It made Draco feel strong, too.

“Harry Potter.” Bane seemed livid, and barely containing it.

Before more could be said, Bane’s eyes landed on Draco, widening and near rolling- Draco could see the whites of his eyes and smell the pepper-acrid-sharp scent of anger-sweat. Bane’s hooves stamped the ground impatiently.

“You brought a _monster_ into these woods?! There are enough dangers-” Words seemed to fail him.

“He’s _not_ a monster, he’s our friend!” Pansy, bless her, was just buzzed enough to have a loose tongue.

It was the wrong thing to say.

Bane lunged at Draco, and Draco- less himself and more wolf- leapt to the side and snapped at Bane’s hooves. The centaur cried out in alarm and attempted a kick, but Draco was already out of range. Neither had made any kind of contact, but the tension had been broken- all too soon and in the worst way. Draco looked to Harry, whose hand was halfway to his wand, and- and Draco knew enough politics to know that was _asking_ for another war. Saviour or not, a wizard raising their wand against a non-magical creature that had sided _with_ them during the war?

Draco was a lot of things. Weak and cowardly, useless, pathetic, ugly- the list went on. But he was also _stupidly_ in love with this _stupid_ boy, and starting more dangerous _bullshit_ wasn’t something Draco could let him do. So he planted his paws and dug deep for instincts he’d tried to box up and push away since the moment he’d realized they were there. He sang.

_I am here, I am of you, I am hungry. Feed me, feed me._

With quick movements, he rushed his friends, teeth bared. Weasley grabbed for Granger, Pansy shoved Blaise behind herself, and Harry’s wand came up pointed at _him_ \- and it _hurt_ but he had to get them _out_ \- so he snapped, jaws closing on Weasley’s pantleg (and _only_ his pantleg, thank Merlin) and tore. Red light shot at him, and when it hit it felt all tingly, like a stupefy but without a whole lot of power behind it. Draco summoned everything in him and let rip a snarl from deep in his chest.

_That_ sent them running.

Draco gave chase for a few feet before whirling on Bane. They’d met before, though Draco was a little foggy on when exactly. Likely because their introduction was a kick in the head, followed by a helter skelter pursuit through the forest. Something they seemed about to repeat.

But Bane just stared at him, a strange look on his face and his body language oddly calm, considering the conniption he’d been gearing up into.

“Foal-killer… your prey was just before you, and you let it go?” Bane’s eyes were unnerving- _blink, just blink_ , Draco begged. “That is not in your nature.”

Draco shifted, feeling like ants were crawling under his skin, under his fur. Bane looked up at the stars, something _like_ anger pinching his face, but it wasn’t quite there.

“Leave this place tonight, beast. Jupiter is dim.”

Draco took it for the threat it was and slipped away through the undergrowth.

-=-

They didn’t talk about it, and Draco pretended he didn’t notice Weasley and Pansy both giving him a wide berth, or how Granger smiled very weakly at him without saying anything, or how Blaise talked too loud about nothing when they saw each other. Or how Harry wouldn’t meet his eyes.

It was all fair. He’d scared them, and badly, for what turned out to be no very good reason at all. He returned to subsisting on chocolate and water (usually from a tap in a bathroom he was passing) and didn’t bother with meals. He didn’t have an appetite anyway. He took to wandering the halls at night instead of sleeping, finding the movement numbing to his brain.

One night, he was stopped short by the sight of the Grey Lady dancing to music only she could hear, floating serenely along the hall. Draco stood, not wanting to scare her too, his mind numb and nothing really feeling _real_. She was translucent, shimmering like unicorn hair in the moonlight coming from the high windows. She did spot him eventually, but instead of floating away or making herself invisible, she smiled at him and dipped a deep, fancy curtsy.

And because his mother taught him _manners_ , Draco bowed back, albeit stiffly. Before he knew it, he was taking her offered hand (careful not to slip through) and they were waltzing together. It had been a long time since Draco’s last lesson, but it brought back memories all the same. His mother’s pearl-colored dress robes, her light, tinkling laugh as five-year-old Draco apologized for trodding on her toes. _It’s fine, my darling, you’re learning_. And later, when he was older, practicing changing partners with his mother and Pansy, a pained-looking Severus assisting while his father charmed the instruments to play. _That’s it, my love, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, yes, that’s it, spin-step-three-four-_

Draco danced, and tried to forget everything. The Grey Lady began to hum, a slow wistful waltz that had to be the music they were supposed to be moving to. _Perfect, my darling, now-_

He danced, and abruptly a whiff of broom polish caught him. It wasn’t Harry, maybe someone had spilled some earlier, or maybe Peeves had been playing a prank. It made his eyes smart all the same. He stepped back to twirl the ghost, welcoming her frigid form back into his arms and admiring the way a shaft of moonlight made her hair and dress glitter. _Don’t cry, little dragon, you must smile at your partner- that’s it, such a beautiful boy when you smile._

Draco danced, his mother’s voice in his ear, a dead woman in his arms, and Harry in his heart.

-=-

_-first known use of beetle’s eyes was in 1643BC by Wang Xiu Ying, in the early Shang dynasty-_

Draco rubbed his eyes tiredly, fumbling for his wand and casting _tempus._ Silver ribbons swam from the tip of his wand, evidently just as lethargic as he was. It was only 5:02. He could make it to dinner if he felt like it. He was curled in a far corner of the library, a table that didn’t have a window nearby and thus was rarely used. But back here where it was gloomy and not well lit, he wasn’t likely to be bothered.

“Oh- hello, Draco.”

He dropped his wand at the dreamy voice and ducked his head into his book again. _-in 1643BC by Wang Xiu Ying in the early Shang dynasty. Her early notes suggest their initial use-_

“It’s okay, Draco, you can just listen.” She sounded like she was smiling. Draco hadn’t even heard Luna approach. He couldn’t look at her without seeing her scared eyes, face streaked with grime.

_-initial use was stabilization, though it is debatable-_

“Ginny and I were thinking, a Valentine’s day party would be a great opportunity for house unity.”

_-debatable if-_ Ginny wasn’t even _attending_ Hogwarts this year, was she? Wouldn’t he have noticed?

“You should bring a gift for Harry. I think he’d really appreciate it.”

The words blurred on the page. She was hosting a party, _telling_ him about it- and now just assuming he’d not only attend but also addressing the _thing_ , publicly. After what his family had done to her, he couldn’t believe she was talking to him.

“It’s okay, Draco. It wasn’t your fault. If you ever want to talk, I’m here, okay? We’ll see you there.” She squeezed his shoulder before leaving.

It would be rude of him not to go. He didn’t have to _stay,_ he could just… say hi to Luna, ~~give Harry his gift~~ and leave. It didn’t have to be a big deal. An olive branch. He wasn’t trying to _pull_ , just- be nice. Okay. He could do this. Just five minutes and he could go.

But… what to get Harry? Ignoring the implications of Valentine’s day (mostly because he couldn’t bear to contemplate it,) what would Harry appreciate? Something useful, practical…

He could have smacked himself when it hit him, hours later when he finally made it back to the common room to see Harry struggling to get comfortable in front of the fire. A quilt. A good, squishy quilt was something everyone could use and appreciate. Draco passed through the common room like a wraith, deep in thought.

A quality quilt would be costly. Money Draco no longer possessed. He found himself staring up at the ceiling, running his hands over his own quilt. Harry had trouble sleeping, he knew. So- definitely a quilt. He drifted off to sleep, thinking maybe his mother would know where to go from here…

The next day found Draco back in the library, grabbing every book on fine charmwork he could find. He’d sent his mother an owl very early that morning, which she’d replied to faster than Draco had expected. She’d seemed… excited, giving him tips and guidance on the spellwork he’d need and advice he doubted he’d find in any book. She also sent him a package that he’d had to enlarge and remove the lightening charm she’d put on it. It included fabric of all colors and patterns, and a thick roll of batting. Narcissa said they’d been sitting in the attic for years, and Draco was welcome to all of it.

Before he knew it, Draco was spending all his free time in his classroom, books on magical crafting and fine needlework strewn around him. He cut and sized fabric until he had something that was large enough to comfortably fit any position Harry might want to put it in, and arranged it into a delicate pattern- a stag, a black dog, and a brown wolf, surrounded by lillies and- as an afterthought- a white doe in each corner.

A stag- their shared Patronus. And Sirius’ other form was no longer a secret; nor was how much Harry had cared for him. Remus Lupin’s other form, because a human would have stuck out with the animal motif Draco was going for but also as a reminder to be brave in the face of adversity. (That he had been Harry’s favorite teacher was also no secret.) Lillies, for Harry’s mum, obviously. And the doe- the doe was Draco’s touch. Something his gut told him was important and that it _fit_.

It took a lot of reference photos- Draco doubted he’d forget how a deer’s legs looked, or how to draw the haunches of a wolf. He’d never done a crafty thing in his life, but the end result didn’t look too bad, if he did say so himself.

“Now I just have to put it together.” He muttered, surveying his work with his hands on his hips.

Easier said than done. There were so many _little pieces_ , what was he _thinking_.

He took a break by transfiguring a chair in the classroom into a wooden bucket and going down to the Black Lake. He examined her shores, picking up sickle and knut-sized stones, smooth and round, and collecting them in the bucket until it was full and weighty. He would sew them into pockets along the blanket, weighing it down. He would cast temperature-regulating charms on it, and gentle cheering charms, just enough to be calming. Harry could lighten it himself if he didn’t like the weight.

Draco found that, while he worked on the quilt, his mind was quiet. So long as his hands were moving, he didn’t have time to think about anything. And that worked out just fine for Draco.

It was only a few days before the party that Draco finally stood back, finished with his work. He allowed himself to admire it and even wrap himself up in it to test it before folding it up neatly and packaging it up. It was a large, heavy, lumpy, poorly-wrapped package, but hopefully that would be alright.

Now he just had to face a bunch of his classmates who hated his guts and the boy he’d scared to death that he was also in love with, which everyone already knew about, give him the package and make a run for it. Sure.

What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahaha yes it's gonna go wrong I don't think I'm spoiling anything by saying that. Sorry this took so long to update! Hope you guys liked!

**Author's Note:**

> Pls forgive any typos, or feel free to point them out to me. I hand write everything first and then type it up, ya boi misses a few things.


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